


Stocks

by Dragomir



Series: Stocks [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abuse, Collars, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Physical Abuse, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Sexual Abuse, Stocks, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, the Inquisitor is not a nice person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3690687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/pseuds/Dragomir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor is not a nice person. Dorian pays the price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stocks

**Author's Note:**

> For a [prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13696.html?thread=53208960#t53208960) on the kmeme.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

_Hurts_. Gasp for air. Look around. _Hurts_.

Hand in his hair, grabbing. Hair comes out at the roots. Dorian whimpers as a cock is pressed between his lips. Familiar hand on his jaw, thumb and fingers pressing in harshly. Squeeze. _Bite me and you’ll regret it, whore_. Thrusting. Animal. Rutting in his mouth. Grunt. Grunt. Grunt.

_Hurts. It hurts. Pleasenopleasenopleaseno_.

Someone at his back now. Dorian squirms and whimpers as hands dig into the bruises on his waist, his hips, his thighs. He can’t move much, bound as he is. The person behind him grunts in satisfaction. Drip. Drip. Cum dripping out of him. Dorian sobs as the man behind him thrusts in. The only hurt is humiliation now. The soldier at his mouth grunts in satisfaction. Animal. Pig. Rutting away. _It hurts_.

The Inquisitor, in the corner of his eye. Smirking. Pleased. _Please stop this_. Tears dribbling out the corners of his eyes. Dorian shrieks as the man at his mouth thrusts home. He gags. Jerk back. Jerk back, get away. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe, can’t _breathe help me stop it DON’T_. Don’t spit when he withdraws. Swallow the soldier’s spend. Don’t spit. Shudder. Swallow, smile and _say thank you ser_. Revulsion. _Filthy whore. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?_ Humiliation ripples through him. Moan. _Please._ Moan again. Pleasure. He doesn’t want… The man at his back ruts faster, grunting when he reaches completion. Harsh tugging on his cock. Oh Maker, it hurts. Tug. Tug. Humiliation burning behind his eyes as he ruts into the tugging. _Should have known a whore like you would like doing it in public. Hey, Inky, can we play with him some more?_

Drip. Drip. Drip. More cum sliding out of him. Dorian lets his head drop. Spit and bodily fluids drool from his mouth to the ground. He lost the will to protest hours ago. Days? Has it been days or only one? It hurts so much. Heavy collar around his neck, dampens his magic. Thick leather cuffs at his wrists; a set weighing down his ankles. Heavy wooden stocks keeping him up, on his knees. Mouth and ass at perfect height to be used.

_Drunken slut, do you get off on humiliating people? Maybe_ you _should be taken down a few pegs instead._

Hand in his hair, pulling his face up to look. Inquisitor smirking down at him. Dorian whimpers and shakes his head. Speech gone hours ago. Couldn’t stop screaming. Throat bruised, used. He can’t speak. Whimper. Plead. Harsh jerk on his hair, stop struggling. _Filthy little bitch. You like this?_

“If you’re a good bitch,” the Inquisitor coos with a leering smirk, “I’ll let you cum.” Hand on Dorian’s face, petting him. Like a dog. Dorian closes his eyes and whimpers again, softly. Hand in his hair shakes his head. Back of his head knocks against the wooden boards of the stocks. Dull throbbing pain; Dorian adds it to the catalogue of aches in his body.

“Good bitch,” the Inquisitor purrs with malicious glee, grinding their crotch in his face. Tears of humiliation. Dorian doesn’t try to get away. Lacerations on his back – the riding crop. _Whipping is good for bad sluts like you._ Don’t struggle. Be a good boy. Don’t fight. No biting. You deserve this. _Bad bo_ y. Bad boys get punished. The Inquisitor lets go of his hair and Dorian lets his head drop, tears leaking down his face.

More soldiers. _Cullen? Blackwall_? _Please, don’t let it be them. Why are you doing this to me?_ Dorian loses count. He’s not sure he wants to remember. Grunting animals. He stops whimpering. Can’t get energy. _Slut’s lost his fight. Oi, ladies, it’s your tu-sonofabitch!_ Slap. Punch. Harsh blow to the face. _Don’t bite me again, slut, or I’ll beat you bloody_. Dorian spits out a mouthful of blood and glares at the soldier. Another blow to the face. Ears ringing. Can’t lift his head now.

Sagging in his restraints. Been here too long. Knees don’t ache anymore – can’t feel them to feel the ache. Wrists hurt. Jaw hurts. Dorian keeps his eyes fixed on the ground. Drool and cum drip from his mouth. _Filthy slut. If you beg, I’ll give you some water._ Don’t beg. Don’t beg. Still have your pride. Don’t beg for water.

_How does it feel, bitch? You like being taken down a notch? Filthy slut. Hey, look, he’s enjoying this!_ Maker _, do they breed sluts like you in Tevinter?_

Hand on his back. Large. Warm. Shudder, eyes shut. Tremble. Flinch. Don’t resist. Don’t resist and they won’t hurt you. Dorian keeps his eyes closed. Submit. Submit. They’ll lose interest soon.

Drip. Drip. Dri-

Soft cloth on his abused backside. Damp cloth next. Washing. Washing away the filth. Over his abused cock, gently. Whimper. Hips twitch. Soft moan of pain, bitten off. Withdrawn hands. Soothing petting at his back. Rough callouses. Large hand. Comforting. Dorian lets out a weak, breathy sob. _No. No, please no. No more, please!_ It’s worse when they treat him kindly.

Stocks open. Dorian feels himself being lifted out. Cuffs on his wrists removed. Large fingers at the back of his neck. Whimper. Whimper. Don’t resist. No magic, can’t fight with no magic. Collar. Falls off his neck. Fingers massaging the back of his neck, gently. Gentle fingers.

“This isn’t right.” Dark growl. Dorian shudders and curls in on himself. Large hands, possessive, on his shoulders. _Oh Maker, please, not again not again not again, PLEASE_. “Why?” Darker. Angry. Whimper when hands clutch too tight. No, don’t fight. Don’t fight, it’ll hurt more.

“The altus is arrogant, selfish, and cruel.” Dorian stifles a sob by biting the side of his hand. “He needed to be knocked down a few pegs.” Warm, rough blanket dragged over his shoulders. Not the Inquisitor. He’s being punished. The Inquisitor wants him punished. _Please stop, I’m sorry I’m sorry please don’t do this to me!_

“Not like this.” Deep possessive growl. Speaker. Wraps the blanket around his shoulders. Dorian relaxes in the warmth. How long has it been since he was warm? He nuzzles at his rescuer’s shoulder. Scars. Harsh metal. Leather strap against his face. Buckle bites into his cheek. Bull? No. Bull’s away. _Dumb slut. You think he’s going to protect you? He’s on the Storm Coast with his Chargers. He didn’t want a_ whore _like_ you _with him._

Shifting, rocking motion. Feet above the ground now. Being held, like a child. Broad chest beneath his cheek. Dorian shivers and feels the blanket tuck in tighter around his shoulders. Hiding him. Hide. Hide your shame.

“I’m sorry, Dorian. I should have…” _Protected you._

Dorian nuzzles Bull’s bare shoulder. Not to blame. _My fault. My fault._

“I’m so sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> One train ride to hell, please. First class.


End file.
